


Death is the Road

by JessicaMDawn



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Buck dies a lot, Buck just wants a family, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Evan "Buck" Buckley, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Not Really Character Death, Spoilers for 4X05, Whump, Worried Bobby Nash, Worried Eddie Diaz, buck begins spoilers, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29625255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaMDawn/pseuds/JessicaMDawn
Summary: Growing up, Buck got hurt a lot. It wasn't intentional, but It got his absent parents to pay him attention. But then he got hurt, bad. But he got back up. And while traveling on his own he got hurt, bad. But he got back up. Until he realized it wasn't luck. It wasn't a fluke.He couldn't die.What was he supposed to do with that?
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Original Character(s)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 319
Collections: 9-1-1 Tales





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After watching 'Buck Begins,' I wanted to write another fic about Buck having some interesting ability. I already did 'He can see ghosts' so I didn't want to do that again. So this time we went the opposite way. Now he can't die.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to DLanaDHZ for the beta!
> 
> Title comes from a quote by Sri Chinmoy: "Death is not the end. Death can never be the end. Death is the road. Life is the traveler. The soul is the guide."

When you're a child, you think you're invincible. Nothing can kill you. The world is amazing and you are adventurous and nothing is going to stop you. This was true for Evan Buckley too. He wanted to ride a bike and skateboard and roller skate and jump ditches and creeks and find a forest and explore and climb trees and rocks and _mountains_.

With parents who were more focused on themselves and their jobs than their kids, it was easy for Evan to get into all sorts of mischief. He rode his bike down hills that made him go so fast he sometimes couldn't stop without crashing, chased after stray dogs and cats and snakes and racoons and only ended up bit around half the time, and snuck out more often than not just to explore the neighborhood after dark.

But that was all stuff his parents didn't see, and after his absent dad spent a whole afternoon with him when he got hurt learning to ride a bike—well, unseen mischief wasn't as enjoyable.

He made rockets that exploded before liftoff, climbed trees in the front and backyard when he knew his mom could see him, and practiced skateboarding and roller skating without pads so any falls left visible proof. In return, his parents bought him gifts and food and took him on trips to theme parks and sporting events.

He got a mountain bike and rode it over rocks and up mountainous terrain, always close to the edge, until one day he slipped off the edge. Totaled his bike. Broke several bones. A miracle he survived, said the doctors. No more mountain biking, said his parents. But they also spent two weeks watching movies and playing games with him in his bedroom, so he didn't complain much.

Maddie did.

"Sometimes I think you're trying to kill yourself," she said, her voice brittle and irritated though her touch was gentle as she cleaned his latest injury.

Evan shrugged the arm she wasn't tending to. "I'm just having fun."

She sighed. "Well, I wish you would find some hobbies that don't end up with _another_ hospital visit."

An idea burst to life in Evan's mind. "Hey," he said brightly. "Maybe you should become a doctor. Then, when I end up in the hospital, you can be the one to take care of me there too."

The look Maddie shot him was hard, and his smile dropped instantly. "Don't put that on me. I hate seeing my little brother hurt. Asking me to treat you in the hospital?" She shook her head. "You'll break my heart, Ev."

"I'm sorry, Maddie," Evan muttered, eyes downcast. "Are—Are you mad at me?"

Getting hurt in ways that were visible got him attention from his parents, but he wouldn't do it if it meant losing Maddie. It was them against the world. A united front. The Buckley Siblings, now and forever. He couldn't lose her.

Maddie finished bandaging his arm—a minor thing, compared to his usual injuries, might not even earn him an extra dessert—and sighed again. She held his hand gently between her own. "No. I'm not—I'm not mad," she said. She squeezed his hand to make him meet her eyes. "I'm scared. I don't want anything to happen to you. What if you get hurt too badly and don't recover? What if you die?"

Evan put his hand on top of hers on top of his. With as much conviction in his voice as he could muster, he said, "I won't die, Mads. I promise." He gave her a wild grin. "Nothing can kill Evan Buckley. Trust me."

With a huff of disbelieving laughter, Maddie reminded him, "Everyone dies eventually, Evan."

…

…

Except maybe not everyone did.

…

…

When Evan was fourteen, after Maddie had moved out and started college and married _Doug_ and _left Evan behind_ , a friend dared him to climb the local water tower. It was old, scheduled for demolition soon, and definitely unsafe. Maddie would never approve.

So of course, Evan did it.

The whole thing creaked and groaned with every step, like just too much pressure would have it crashing down on its own, no demolition required. A rung popped loose under his foot as he climbed, causing his stomach to drop. His entire body would have too if he hadn't still been holding on to the railing with both hands. Down below, his friends whooped and hollered, egging him on—except for Ryan, who had been against the dare the whole time and kept telling the others to make him come down.

By the time he reached the top of the ladder and stood on the walkway that ran the entire outside of the tower, Evan was all tense muscles and sweaty palms. But he was high enough that none of his friends would know how scared he had been of falling, how much he regretted taking the stupid bet more with each step. Up there, he could take deep breaths, calm himself, and wave down to them like he was king of the world.

"You owe me fifty bucks!" he shouted at them.

They groaned back, loud enough to be heard all the way up. Whatever complaining conversation they had after, about who had to contribute how much, was just a quiet babble of noise with no meaning. Evan let out a breathy laugh and raised his eyes to the view.

It wasn't a breathtaking view, that was for sure. They were near factories and storage buildings for companies, so he didn't have a view of expansive mountains and he couldn't see a whole city stretched out below him. Still, being that high up—something like a hundred and thirty feet, he'd read once—did give the world a new perspective.

Somewhere far below and a couple dozen roads away, his parents were at work. They had no idea where he was. They had hardly spoken to him since Maddie left, as if it were somehow his fault. Even coming home with a bruise from playing basketball too rough in school hadn't elicited their usual concern and attention.

Maybe that was why he took the bet. Because doing it meant that his friends, at least, had eyes only for him. Because it was stupid and dangerous, and maybe some part of Evan thought that getting hurt, heck even dying, wouldn't matter. Because he didn't matter. Not to his parents. Not to Maddie. Not to anyone.

But from so high up, Evan wondered if that were true. Hershey was a decently big place, and the world was a lot bigger. Maybe, if he could get out of this town, get away from his parents, he could find someone, even just one person, who would look at him. Who would see him, as he was, and find worth there.

Just as that thought passed through his mind, there was an ominous creak of metal. Then the walkway beneath his feet gave way and he fell. Someone far below screamed, but Evan's mind was slow to catch up.

One hundred and thirty feet, his mind reminded him. That was, what, ten stories? Maybe more. Probably more.

Oh shit.

…

…

He woke up fourteen hours later in an uncomfortable hospital bed. Maddie sat in the chair beside him, weeping into her hands. Their parents were nowhere to be found.

"Mads?" he croaked.

She gasped, dropping her hands from her face and rushing to touch him—his arm and his cheek. "Evan? Oh my god, Evan!" He had hoped to make her stop crying by letting her know he was awake, but she only seemed to cry harder, and his heart twisted. "What were you doing up there?! You could've—You almost—!"

Evan had no feeling in his whole body, which could not be good news. He opened his mouth to tell her that he was fine anyway, but what came out instead was a shaky, "How—How bad is it?" Even just asking the question had his eyes prickling with tears and his throat closing up.

Maddie shook her head, opened her mouth, closed it, shook her head again. Evan's heart almost stopped. Finally, she managed, "You—You have more bones broken than—than not. No—No internal organ damage, which is a goddamn miracle honestly."

Whoa. Maddie cursed. She must be really scared.

Her grip on his arm was almost painful, but it was also distant. He must be on a metric ton of pain meds.

"Luckily, your head is harder than steel. No, um, no concussion or noticeable damage to the brain. Though honestly, with you thinking climbing that stupid old water tower was a good idea, I think you already had brain damage before you fell," she snapped, or, snapped as best she could with a throat clogged by tears. She squeezed her eyes shut. "They thought you were dead."

"They?" Evan asked. Like when he fell, his brain was slow to understand.

"Your friends. The paramedics," she listed. "Even with a heartbeat, the doctors didn't think you'd—make it," her voice cracked. She had to stop for several breaths to calm herself down again.

They should have Maddie on a heart monitor, Evan thought inanely. Surely she was about to faint or have a heart attack or something. How could he have ever thought she didn't care? Even with her living somewhere else, married to some dickwad, she was there for him. Buckley Siblings. United Front.

His voice stuck in his throat when he tried to speak, so he cleared it before trying again. It still sounded thick. "I'll be okay." Maddie shook her head, the tears starting up all over again. "Maddie. Maddie, I'm going to be okay."

If he said it enough, even he would start to believe it.

And it turned out to be true. It took weeks of healing, but the doctors were surprised by how soon Evan was up and about, how quickly his bones mended, how fast he put their physical therapy to shame. Physically, Evan was back in top condition within two months.

At first, his friends were hesitant to talk about it, or to him at all. Until Evan turned around in the middle of class and told De'Andre, "You still owe me fifty bucks." Then they all, slowly, got back to hanging out like usual.

Ryan was the hardest to win back. One day, while at a party for Keith's birthday, Evan met Ryan on the back porch. Ryan actually jumped back when he got within arm's reach.

"Why are you being so weird?" Evan demanded.

"The accident," Ryan muttered, unable to meet Evan's eyes.

Evan threw an arm out as if gesturing to something near them. "The water tower? Dude, I told you I don't care. It wasn't anyone's fault. They made a dare. I took it. That's it. And I'm fine! I'm over it, so why aren't you?" he demanded.

Finally, for the first time since the water tower, Ryan met his eyes. "You died," he whispered, then glanced around to see if anyone was close enough to listen in. They weren't, and the music was loud enough to block them out anyway.

"I didn't die," Evan insisted. He held out his arms. "I'm alive. See?"

Ryan shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself as if cold. "No. You died. I swear to god. Your eyes were open but you weren't there. I saw it. I checked your _pulse_ , dude."

Now Evan's heart was racing. Just trying to imagine his own body, lying broken under the water tower, eyes open but dead, heart stopped, was horrifying. Maddie had said they _thought_ he was dead, not that he had died.

"Maybe," he started, then swallowed. "Maybe you just suck as finding pulses."

Ryan let out a derisive snort. "Maybe. Or maybe I let one of my friends die and didn't do anything to stop it." He glared at the ground. "And maybe I need time to deal with that."

By the time Evan escaped Hershey, Pennsylvania in his sister's Jeep five years later, Ryan had only just begun to speak freely with him.

…

…

It took awhile before Evan thought that maybe he had found a place to call home again. He went up to Allentown. Syracuse. Bangor. Then down to Winchester. Richmond. Durham. Greenville. None of it felt right. By the time he got to Augusta, he started to miss Maddie more than he was mad at her for ditching him again, so he started sending her postcards from each city he spent more than two nights in.

In Virginia Beach, Evan found his first love. The ocean.

He stood with his jeans on, barefoot in the sand, and stared out at the endless water. It sparkled in the sun. It was gorgeous. His first stop, before finding a B&B or food or looking for a job, was to buy a bathing suit.

Three days later, while he was soaking up the sun, seawater still dotting his skin, a volleyball slugged him in the gut.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!"

The voice belonged to a pretty brunette in a bright yellow striped bikini. Her eyes were caramel in the sun. "Huh?"

She went passed Evan to retrieve the volleyball and then returned. "My friend Grace hits too hard and I missed it. I'm so sorry we hit you. Are you okay?"

Evan glanced over to where a group of five others stood on opposite sides of a volleyball net, all with various levels of concern on their faces. He turned back to the brunette and scrambled to his feet. "Hi, I'm Evan." She narrowed her eyes, confused, and Evan hurried on with, "I mean. I'm fine. I'm totally fine. My name's Evan. What's yours?"

"Eliane." She looked him over as if seeing him for the first time, then appeared to consider what she saw. Just as Evan's nerves started to kick in, she smiled. "Do you surf?"

He shook his head. "Never been this close to the ocean before, so never had a chance."

Eliane's smile turned a bit wicked. "Want to learn?"

Evan's matching smile was full of confidence he didn't entirely feel. "Yes, ma'am."

…

…

Eliane's brother was a bartender. The moment he met Evan, he said "Damn, he's hot," to his sister and then, "You ever thought of being a mixologist? You'd make tons in tips alone."

"Lyam!" Eliane cried in dismay.

"What?" he said, though his eyes never left Evan. "Look at those big blue puppy dog eyes. He'll make a killing."

Which is what got Evan into mixology school. For the first time, he actually liked what he was learning and paid attention in class. Soon, he graduated and started working at the same bar as Lyam. He had a steady paying job, a girlfriend who was hot and as into him as he was into her, and friends that went surfing or skating or hiking together.

Virginia Beach was home, more than Hershey had ever been.

Maybe if he wasn't a thrill seeker, things could have stayed perfect. But he was. The day everything came crashing down, the swells were huge. Probably a storm would hit later.

"Come on, let's hit the beach before all the tourists take over."

"Uh, Ev," Rodney, one of his roommates, said. "Until a few months ago, you _were_ a tourist."

Evan flicked him off with a grin. Then they all gathered up their gear and headed out. Eliane, her brother, and a few of their friends came too. They spent three hours in the waves, trying to one-up each other, and it was awesome.

Then one of the waves crashed too soon. Or maybe there was a dolphin or a shark or something. All Evan knew was that one minute he was riding his board, and the next he was being tossed this way and that by the waves. The line tethering him to his board snapped, and the current ripped Evan away. Something smacked into his back, or maybe he smacked into it, and then all the air in his lungs was gone, replaced by seawater.

He couldn't breathe.

His insides burned.

Everything went black.

And then he sat up on the beach, hurling up salt, water, and even a bit of seaweed. Around his coughing and heaving breaths, he heard crying and gasping that wasn't his own.

Just out of arm's reach, his friends were huddled together. Eliane had tears making tracks through the salt on her cheeks. Lyam's arms were limp where they weakly wrapped around her. Rodney looked like he'd been caught halfway through running a hand through his braids and never lowered it. And all of them were staring at him with wide eyes.

Voice rough, still coughing a bit, Evan asked, "What—What happened?"

Steven, another bartender, was the first to find his voice. "What the fuck? Dude, you were dead."

"What?" Evan asked weakly.

"You…drowned," Rodney managed, finally lowering his hand from his head. "We couldn't get you to breathe. It's been, like, eight minutes." He glanced to the road, then back to Evan. "Man, the ambulance just got here." He motioned to the truck that had just pulled up, paramedics hurrying out and their way.

The paramedics checked him out. There was evidence that he had swallowed salt water, sure, but his lungs sounded fine. He didn't have a concussion. Heck, his back was hardly bruised from hitting a rock or whatever. His blood pressure was perfect, even.

Things were different after that. His friends stopped calling, only responding when Evan called them, and half the time only to tell him they were too busy to hang out. When prompted, badgered, nagged enough, they admitted that seeing him dead was why. It wasn't just that he had almost died, that they almost lost him. Like Ryan had years before, they talked about his eyes being open and empty, his heart not beating, how he was well and truly dead.

Like Ryan, they were freaked out and asked for time. Even Eliane shied away.

Unlike with Ryan, Evan didn't stick around to see how much time they needed.

…

…

It kept happening.

Evan was in Florida for three weeks, helping build houses, when he accidentally touched a metal rod that was touching a live wire and electrocuted himself. Straight up fried himself. Cooked goose. And then he sat up, somewhat singed on the outside, but definitely not as dead as his coworkers expected him to be. He just figured the shock hadn't been as bad as everyone claimed, but they were super freaked out, so he left.

He moved west, to Montana, and started working on a dude ranch. They taught him how to run the ziplines, and how to tend the horses between guests. He, of course, preferred the ziplines. He preferred them right up until he went out to retrieve a guest who had gotten stuck—a relatively common occurrence—and, right as they reached the end and the guest was unhooked, the line snapped. He fell almost two hundred feet, into the river below, and lost consciousness pretty much immediately. He woke up somewhere downstream and had to hike back to the ranch, every inch of him aching. There were cops involved, and a body retrieval team, and baffled doctors, and people calling him a miracle, and—

He fled to Arizona, where he helped run a Haunted Tour Bus in the evenings. It seemed right up his alley since he loved learning random facts about stuff and places. Then one night, after he had turned in the bus, he heard a commotion.

Around the corner, in an alley, a guy was robbing someone at gun point.

"Hey!" Evan shouted, grabbing the guy's attention. He hurried over and shoved the man away from his target.

The gun turned on Evan. "You mind your own fucking business," the guy threatened.

Hands up, Evan said, "Maybe you should mind yours. Robbing people? Not cool." He moved so that the mugger's back was to his original target. Then, he jerked his head, silently telling them to run.

They didn't need to be told twice. Immediately, they took off out of the alley, out of sight. The mugger turned at the sound of their footsteps and cursed, moving to follow. Evan jumped forward, grabbed the hand holding the gun. They struggled for the weapon for a few seconds, and then—

Bang!

"Fuck," the mugger cursed, stepping back. There wasn't a mark on him, but his face was white.

Evan collapsed to the concrete, a bullet in his chest. The mugger stumbled back, away. Evan reached out, silently asking for help, but the man only turned and ran away.

He felt the life leave him that time, seeping out along with his blood. It was terrifying. It wasn't a sudden stop at the end of a fall. It wasn't the painful but quick rush of water into the lungs. It wasn't the near instantaneous failure when electricity met the heart. It hurt, and it was slow, and no one was around to save him.

He was alone, wishing he'd given Maddie a call instead of just sending all those stupid postcards. Glad that she hadn't come with him, because then what if she'd been there and gotten shot instead? Scared, because he didn't want to die.

He didn't want to die.

And then he woke up. The sky was still dark with stars, but the moon was beginning to set, so several hours had passed.

"What?" Evan gasped, sitting up.

Something rolled off his chest into his lap. With shaking hands, Evan held it up at eye level. A squished bullet. A bullet that had met its mark. The bullet that had killed him.

Evan dropped it like he'd been burned and scrambled away. He got out of the alley where he'd been—where he'd been killed—He'd been killed!—and into the Jeep.

Where he promptly hyperventilated until he passed out.

…

…

Ryan had been right. Rodney had been right. They had all been right. Evan had died. How many _times_ had he died? How many of those hospital visits should have ended with him in the morgue? Why didn't he stay dead?

He spent a lot of time reading comics after that, looking for anything in the origin stories to explain why he couldn't die—or if there might be something that could actually kill him.

Wolverine could heal from pretty much anything, and died of adamantium poisoning when he was, like, super super old. In another timeline, he died from suffocation after he was sealed in adamantium. But Evan had survived drowning, and also the chances of him being encased in _any_ metal were unlikely.

Some dude named Elixir could heal—and, like, a lot of other stuff—and died from being shot but then resurrected himself. But that was a conscious decision, whereas Evan's wasn't, and the powers didn't quite match. And Deadpool could heal from basically anything, including decapitation. Evan did _not_ want to test if that were true for him. And Blade was literally a vampire, so he didn't count.

Wait. Evan wasn't a vampire. Right?

No. He had never craved human blood. He _loved_ going in the sun. And he didn't have super strength or speed or anything. No, definitely not a vampire.

Finally, he gave up looking at comics, unable to find any answers there. He thought about asking his parents, or Maddie, if they knew about it, but no. Maddie had always been upset to see him in the hospital, or injured, and she had never mentioned anything about being immortal. If this was genetic, surely Maddie would have told him, right?

So, somehow, some way, Evan was a freak. Some sort of mutant. Some creature that couldn't die.

He drove away from Arizona like that would take him away from his reality and back to a time when he still thought he was normal.

…

…

Maybe it was all the comic books, mixed with his usual adventure seeking, but Evan's next stop was in California to become a Navy Seal. If he couldn't die, he could at least put that skill to good use defeating bad guys, right?

Except the Seals wanted him to shut off his emotions, to follow orders exactly, to do as he was told without thinking, without worrying about any collateral damage that might result, to not care about the people he met. He couldn't do it. Evan had always cared about people, had always made friends easily. He didn't want to change that about himself too, when so much was already changing.

So much for being a superhero.

…

…

Peru was beautiful. Beaches and mountains. Forest and field. Evan wasn't a fan of the humidity, but he loved all the people he met tending bar. They told him about the tours and trips they went on, about their lives back home. Everyone had a story, and Evan wanted to hear them all.

This far from Hershey—hell, from the U.S.—Evan sometimes remembered his thoughts from before his fall from the water tower. How he had thought that if he could only escape Hershey, he would find someone that would see the real him and accept him for everything he was. Well, he had gone halfway around the world and hadn't found anyone yet. No one who would stay once they experienced an Evan Buckley Not-Death. Hell, even _Evan_ didn't want to stick around after one. He had a lot of one-night encounters with anyone who caught his attention, but nothing that lasted.

Sometimes he sat on the beach, or on a hiking trail, or in his apartment, and the crushing feeling of being alone was almost too much. He wanted a family—a real family. Parents who loved him. Cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews. Maddie. He wanted someone to love him, all of him, and to love them in return.

That was what brought him back to California, to L.A.—a group of guys who called themselves 'family.' His new roommates, who surfed daily and went clubbing and drank way too much alcohol, but who were generally good people. They had fun together, and it was almost like having a bunch of brothers.

They all had jobs though, steady ones, and Evan was tired of part time. If he was going to make it work with his new 'family,' he had to get something more substantial.

Then he saw the firetrucks responding to a call. Then he ran into an off-duty firefighter helping out at a volunteer event in a park. Then he saw posters for a new movie involving a firefighter.

Evan took it as a sign and joined the firefighter program.

"Evan Buckley."

"Here."

"Evan Johnson."

"Present."

"Evan Short?"

"Gotcha."

"Three people named Evan? Do any of you have a nickname?"

Johnson said 'No,' and Short said 'Shorty, but I'd prefer not to be called that here.' When the instructor turned exasperated eyes on Evan, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Buck. People call me Buck."

The new name was unplanned but felt liberating. Evan was the kid ignored by his parents. Evan was the guy who got tossed out by every group of friends or coworkers after he freaked them out. Evan was a nomad, constantly on the move with no place to call home. _Buck_ lived in L.A. and wasn't about to leave. Buck's life was going to be vastly different than Evan's.

…

…

_tbc_


	2. Life is the Traveler

Things that could have killed Buck Buckley during his time with the one eighteen firehouse:

\- house fires, factory fires, forest fires

\- flooding airplanes and elevators

\- a repel cord snapping

\- upset people with guns

\- stepping in electrified water

\- earthquakes

None of it had. Heck, he hadn't even gotten close to dying in any of those situations, and he didn't try. Firefighter training included how to be as safe as possible in dangerous situations.

Embarrassingly, the first time he died was by choking on a piece of bread on the first real date he'd been on since Eliane. By the time Abby gave him a way to breathe, the paramedics had shown up and Buck should've had brain damage. She knew it and he knew it, but the doctors examined him and said he was fine and within a day he was up and running again.

She didn't leave. She said, "I don't know how you're okay, but you are. And I'm so grateful for that."

Maybe all Buck had needed was to date older people. Then again, he didn't outright tell her he couldn't die. He just didn't try to explain away how he hadn't. And she wasn't freaked out. Their relationship was fine. In fact, it got better after the fact.

Buck's life was so different from Evan's. Buck had someone who saw him, all his broken parts, and didn't run. Someone who loved him.

Or so he thought, until Abby's mom died and she left to go find herself. And never came back. To L.A. or to him.

…

…

Buck had never had a partner before. Not a sexual partner. A non-sexual partner. Someone he could count on to always been there, in every situation, work or otherwise. He'd had Maddie growing up, but that wasn't the same. She was his sister.

And Buck had always cared about the people he was with, whatever semblance of a family that he could get. But with his partner, Buck cared more than ever, he worked harder than ever. Because he had to keep his partner safe. He had to make sure Eddie made it out of any situation alive.

He would survive a bomb going off in his face—probably—but Eddie wouldn't. He would survive falling eleven stories from a hotel room, but Eddie wouldn't. And Buck couldn't let him die. They had known each other for barely a month and Eddie was already too important to lose.

"Buck, what the heck are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm going after him."

Bobby shook his head. "The ground is too unstable. We have to wait for helicopter support."

He was right, of course. The car had gone over the edge of the cliff because the road gave out beneath it. Eddie and Buck had gone down to help get the passengers. Just after Buck got back to the top with his survivor, the ground had shifted again. Even the support for their ropes had gone over the edge. With Eddie and the other passenger still down there.

Eddie had radioed that he and the woman were safe, but stuck. At any moment, the ground could collapse even more and take them with it, and Buck was not about to sit there and do nothing.

"If you won't send me with the line, I'll freehand it," Buck swore, already marching toward the cliff edge.

"Buck!" Bobby snapped, moving in front of him. "Stop. That's an order."

Buck glared at him. "Don't stop me, Bobby."

"You could die. I already have one man in danger, and I don't want to put another one in it." It was reasonable, but only because Bobby didn't know the truth.

"I'm not gonna die, but Eddie might," Buck said, his voice and his face fierce with determination as he pointed over Bobby's shoulder to the cliff edge. "Now either hook me up to go after them or get out of the way."

Bobby stared at him like he had never seen him before. This determination, this reckless abandon. But of course he had. Buck had never been one to play it safe.

"I have to go after him, Bobby. I have to."

For a long moment—too long, Eddie needed him _now_ —Bobby just watched him. Searched his face like he was gauging how resolute he was. So Buck met his gaze and tried to let Bobby see exactly how important it was to him, how essential, how unacceptable backing down was.

And Bobby nodded. "Okay. Okay."

They hooked up another line—this time to one of the trucks—and lowered him down with two extra harnesses. The earth beneath his feet gave way several times, sending him sliding or getting him hit with debris, but he made it. And then he was face-to-face with Eddie, the woman from the car clinging to him for dear life, sitting on a tree growing out from the side of the mountain.

Eddie was glaring.

"Alright, ma'am. Your one-way ticket to safety has arrived," Buck joked, ignoring the look.

Together, he and Eddie got the woman strapped into a harness and those up top hoisted her up. Buck then helped Eddie put on the new harness, ditching his old one. Eddie kept quiet until the winch started to pull them up again.

"That was stupid," he said.

Buck shrugged. "I didn't give it a lot of thought, but it wasn't nearly my worst line."

Shaking his head, Eddie said, "No. Coming back down for me." He waved down at the several stories drop below. "The last winch went over, and you threw yourself after it. What if you fell?"

The edge was only a few yards above them. Buck gave another, more sheepish, shrug. "I don't know. But I couldn't just leave you there. We've got each other's backs, right?"

Eddie stared at him like he was a difficult math problem. Just before hands started reaching out to help them over the edge, he nodded and said, "Right."

…

…

Hospital rooms sucked. They sucked when Buck was the one in the bed. They sucked more when someone Buck loved was in the bed. They sucked most when it was Maddie.

Ever since the doctors had put her in the room, Buck had held her hand. For four hours, while Maddie slept, he never let go. He held on tight and prayed, wished, pleaded, that she would heal like he did. That nothing could kill her. That she would be alright.

When she woke up, she berated him for not taking a nap himself, even though what had woken her was a nightmare about Doug.

"I'll sleep later," he told her. "Right now, you need me."

Her grip on his hand tightened as her eyes and mouth screwed up, clearly about to start crying again. Buck thought back on those interminable hours when he didn't know if he would ever see her alive again and new tears sprung to his eyes as well.

"I thought I was going to die," Maddie admitted into the quiet of the night air. She wiped her eyes with her free hand and sniffled. "But I thought about you, and I thought about him, and I—I wanted to live. I wanted to win. Just once."

As his sister broke down in front of him and Buck moved to wrap her up protectively in his arms, Buck knew without a doubt that she was normal. She could have died. She was afraid of death. Buck could have lost her. So he held her tight, held her close, and thanked every deity in the world that she had survived.

…

…

One day, just like any other, he watched a superhero movie with Chris and Eddie, and the little man asked if anyone could fly like the hero in the movie.

"Hm, I don't know if everyone can," Buck responded before Eddie could come up with anything. He pretended to scratch an invisible goatee, and then scooped Chris up off the couch and into the air like he weighed nothing. "But you can!"

Chris whooped. "Look, dad!"

From the couch, Eddie laughed. "My little superhero."

The evening was warm, the sunset peeked around the living room curtains, and Buck was with his two favorite people in the world. The two people he loved most, excluding his sister. The people he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. As long as they would have him.

Two hours, three games, and a story later, Eddie declared bedtime and Buck made ready to go back to his apartment. Before he left, Chris gave him a big hug.

"Sleep well, Superman," Buck said, grinning.

Chris shook his head. "You're Superman. A hero. Just like dad."

That night, Buck stared at his ceiling and thought about what Chris had said. A hero. A hero saved lives, and that's part of what every firefighter did. But what about those they couldn't save?

The longer Buck was a firefighter, and the more he saw people in danger, the more he wanted to help. People lost limbs, lost homes, lost lives, and he wanted to do everything he could to save them. Losing someone on a call hurt like hell, and each one haunted him.

How many times had Buck had the chance to do more, to help more, but held back because it was too dangerous? Because anyone else would die doing it? Because he was afraid of losing the one eighteen as a family?

Before he closed his eyes to sleep, Buck made a promise: If there was a chance that he could save someone, he wouldn't let fear that the team would find out his secret stop him. He had this weird ability. Now, he had to put it to good use.

…

…

Ironically, the first person Buck saved that might out his secret was Bobby.

The call was simple: an elderly man's stairlift had jammed and he was stuck three-fourths of the way up the stairs. Only Buck and Bobby were dispatched. Buck handled the stairlift itself, getting it to come down to the bottom floor, while Bobby handled calming the man down and checking his vitals once he was down.

"You know, when I first signed on to be a firefighter, I didn't realize it also meant being a mechanic," Buck noted as they headed back to the dispatch SUV parked on the side of the road.

Bobby shrugged. "We're jacks of all trades, Buck." He rounded the SUV for the driver's seat while Buck put the gear in the back. "Whatever the people need."

"Well yeah, I get that now, but—Bobby, watch out!"

He darted over to his captain, shoving him out of the way just as a car went careening by. It clipped Buck's arm, jerking him sideways and sending him to his knees with a shout.

"Buck!"

Bobby knelt beside him but didn't touch him. Briefly, he glanced down the road after the car, but it had already driven out of sight, then he turned back to Buck.

"You alright?" he asked worriedly.

Buck shook his head, clutching at his arm. "I'm fine. I'm fine. It's fine."

As if to test that, Bobby touched Buck's arm. It hurt enough for Buck to hiss and jerk away.

With a frown, Bobby said, "We're taking you to the hospital."

"No no no no," Buck argued, swaying to his feet. "I'm fine."

But Bobby wasn't having it. He half-manhandled Buck into the SUV and drove to the hospital almost too fast. The whole way, Buck felt his shoulder slip back into place, his bones mend, his wrist slip into the socket the right way. It was weird, and a lot faster than he was used to healing. By the time they arrived, the doctors could only find bruising to show that Buck had been clipped by a car at all.

"How is that possible?" Bobby asked in disbelief as the doctor's prescribed pain killers but otherwise deemed him fit to leave.

Buck shrugged. "I told you. I'm fine. Barely grazed me."

The look in Bobby's eyes said he didn't believe Buck, but he let the topic drop. For now.

…

…

In the next few weeks, Buck grabbed hold of a hot pipe, rammed through a flaming door, and crawled through glass to help various people. Each time, either no one on the team saw him do it, or by the time Hen or Chim looked him over, he was fine.

He was definitely healing faster than he had as a kid. Was that normal? Wait. The healing at all wasn't normal. What was he thinking?

"You've been doing some pretty dangerous maneuvers lately, Buckaroo," Hen noted as she put a bandage over a cut on Buck's forehead. It would be healed before they got back to the station, but he didn't stop her.

"Yeah, I think we treat you back here almost as much as we do actual patients," Chim added, putting his med bag into the ambulance next to Buck's thigh. "Waste our bandages, why don't you."

Buck grinned. "Hey, if it's means one more person gets out alive, I'm all for using up your bandaids."

Chim rolled his eyes. "As long as that's all your using up, and not a hospital bed. Maddie would kill me."

A shake of his head. "Nah. Just some good old-fashioned heroism."

Hen sighed and lightly slapped Buck's thigh to get him to look at her. She pointed a finger at him like he was one of her kids. "You may have been called the L.A. Spider-Man once, but you ain't a superhero. Remember you're mortal like the rest of us, Buck. Don't give me a heart attack. I got a wife and two kids to take care of."

"I'll be careful," Buck promised with his best Boy Scout smile.

…

…

For a while, Buck's promise held true. None of the calls they got were life threatening in any way, so Buck didn't sustain any injuries helping anyone. Just regular, day-to-day assignments. Minor kitchen fires, trapped pets, car crashes, pranks gone wrong, whatever. People being a little stupid. The usual.

And then some kid blew up the fire truck Buck was in, and everyone except him died.

Getting shot had hurt, but the pain of the truck being lifted off his leg was worse. Oh god it was worse. Shock sucked too. Buck had never been in shock before, and later he would pray never to be in shock ever again. Once his brain was working properly, that is.

"Honestly, I'm surprised at the lack of damage," the doctor said, looking through Buck's chart. "When I heard you were crushed by a firetruck, I expected to need to put a rod in there to support your bones, major surgery. Miraculously, though, your injury isn't so bad as to need all that." He frowned at Buck in the bed. "But don't get too excited. It'll still be two months before you're walking right again."

Buck ended up in a cast that went all the way up his leg, on the good drugs, with visits from his favorite Diaz - Christopher.

"Your hugs are gonna heal me up faster than any doctor," Buck said after Christopher threw himself into Buck's arms on the bed.

"And I think you're on a metric ton of painkillers right now," Eddie replied, taking the seat beside the bed.

With a quirky, crooked smile, Buck agreed, "So much."

Eddie put a hand on Buck's arm, just above the IV line. His eyes were warm and concerned as he asked, "Any pain?"

Buck shook his head. "I'm fine. I'll be one hundred percent in, like, two weeks, tops. You won't even have time to miss me at the station."

It was clear that Eddie—field medic extraordinaire—did not believe that for a second, but he didn't argue. Instead, Chris piped up asking if Buck could stay with them until his leg was all better. Eddie looked at Buck, and Buck looked at Eddie, for probably way longer than acceptable, but Buck was really high and didn't care. Then Eddie nodded his assent and both Buck and Christopher cheered loud enough to bring a nurse running.

…

…

The funny thing was, after Buck moved into the Diaz house, he never left. His leg was healed within two weeks and he blew through physical therapy in two more. But he didn't move back into his own apartment.

The guest room became 'Buck's Room.' He, Eddie, and Christopher ate breakfast together, and worked out together, and played video games together, and brushed their teeth all stuffed into the same bathroom together. More than ever, it seemed like Buck had finally found a family.

The thought made his heart swell until it felt too big for his chest. Sometimes the feelings he had for Eddie and Christopher were so strong that all Buck wanted to do was grab them up in the biggest hug—but he only ever actually did that with Chris.

He and Eddie had taken Chris on a few outings before—with Buck claiming they hadn't really explored L.A. since moving there and that they needed a personal tour guide and Eddie calling him on only living in the city one year longer than them—but today was just Buck and Chris. They'd gotten pancakes for breakfast, gone to a movie, and then headed for the beach.

"You sure? It's your day off," Eddie had asked the night before.

"Of course!" Buck had said. "You know I love hanging out with Chris. It'll be a blast."

Eddie had shrugged with an indulgent smile, clapped Buck on the shoulder, leaned in close, too close, and said, "Don't complain to me when you're too exhausted for your next shift."

With a thick swallow, Buck had said, "I've got plenty of energy to spare."

Which was the conversation at the forefront of Buck's mind when he gasped back to life with water rushing around him, dragging him around in a feeling so familiar to his surfing accident that, for a moment, he was twenty-one in Virginia Beach all over again. Then he snagged a rope, or a wire, or something, to keep himself above the waves and it all came rushing back.

The beach. The pier. The tsunami. Christopher.

"CHRISTOPHER!"

"Buck!"

Why couldn't his weird power be healing _other_ people? If Christopher fell under the water and drowned, there would be no coming back from that. Adrenaline, and the waves, made getting to Chris next to impossible. Chris fell under before Buck could reach him, but reach him he did. They held each other so tight that Buck almost forgot to keep swimming. Then he got Chris out of the water, and he got him to safety. They were okay.

And then Buck had to be a big damn hero, saving everyone and their cousin from the water instead of paying attention to the one person who mattered. The truck they sat on got jostled and Christopher fell over the edge, disappearing in an instant.

"Christopher!" Buck called, swimming through the rush, wading through the lull.

He pulled people from cars, from trees, out of debris. He shouted for Christopher and cried until dehydration dried him out. And nothing had ever killed Buck, but losing Chris would do it. Losing his family would be as good as stopping his heart, and there would be no bouncing back from that.

"Chris," he wheezed. "Has anyone—anyone seen him? Please."

The sun set and he kept going. Someone pointed out that he was bleeding but he kept going. He moved from one survivor camp to the next, looking, searching. He couldn't stop his feet. Until he had Christopher in his arms, he couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop.

"Buck? What are you doing here?"

Oh shit. "Eddie."

The concern on Eddie's face might have been a balm to Buck in any other situation, but not now. Eddie looked him over, his hands hovering just over Buck's skin like he worried a touch would hurt, and then his eyes found Chris's glasses hanging around Buck's neck.

Eyes snapping up, Eddie asked, "Where's Christopher?"

It was like Buck's heart had been pulled from his chest entirely, like he was bleeding out in front of his best friend. "I—I had him. We went—to the—the beach. Christopher and—and me. The wave—Eddie—"

Eddie couldn't look at him. Tears gathered in his eyes. Buck lifted his hands as if to reach out to him, then dropped them. He didn't have the right.

"I had him," he croaked. "I kept him safe. But—but then—Eddie I'm so—I'm so sorry. I—I tried." His voice clogged in his throat as his body tried to cry again, but there was nothing left in him. He was going to lose them both. He could rise from the dead but he couldn't even manage to save one little boy. "Eddie—"

But Eddie wasn't looking at him. He was looking beyond him, his eyes narrowing in focus and then widening. "Christopher?" He pushed passed Buck toward where a woman held a small boy. "Christopher!"

"Dad!"

Buck stared at them hugging, his breath coming in gasps, and tried to make his brain believe what he was seeing. They were both okay. They were gonna be fine. Chris wasn't dead. He was okay.

The adrenaline rushed out of Buck faster than the tsunami hit and his body dropped. Only the arms around him—which he vaguely recognized as his team—kept him from hitting the ground.

…

…

One week after the tsunami—one week of Eddie finding reasons to leave Buck to watch Christopher on his own for anywhere between five minutes and eight hours—Buck's father came to California. Just showed up on the Diaz doorstep with no warning. After nine years, they were seeing each other face-to-face.

"Maddie called, after the tsunami, to tell us what happened and that you were okay," Mr. Buckley explained, instead of saying 'hello' like a normal person.

Buck frowned. "Right," he said, unsure. What was the proper response to that?

Mr. Buckley motioned into the house. "Is anyone else home? Can I come in?"

"Eddie and Chris are at Pepa's," Buck muttered, then, "Sure. But only for a few minutes. I gotta get to my shift soon." He turned and walked to the living room, leaving his dad to shut the door behind himself.

Mr. Buckley looked around the house, cataloging every picture and knickknack, on his way to the living room. He pointed at the large T.V. and gave Buck a glance as if the motion had been a compliment of some sort. Buck sat on the couch and stared at him with the blankest expression he could manage until finally his father sat down in the armchair.

"So, you heard about the tsunami and came to see how I was?" Buck asked. "Kind of a far drive for that. You could've just called."

Mr. Buckley opened his mouth, closed it, open it, closed it. He twisted his hands together, let them fall loose, clasped them between his knees. He took so long trying to get a word out that Buck grew tired of waiting. With an irritated sigh, Buck pushed himself to his feet.

"Look, I have to get ready for work." He headed for the hall. "Maybe we can meet up tomorrow after I get off or som—"

"Did you die in the tsunami?"

Buck stopped in his tracks. Behind him, he heard his dad rise from the couch.

"We saw on the news that you got crushed by a firetruck, but Maddie said you were fine within a month."

"Ladder truck," Buck corrected absently, staring at the wood of the hallway floor.

Steps suggested his father was walking closer. "Do you heal quickly, Evan? Too quickly for doctors to explain?" He stopped just behind Buck, whose heart was racing. "Have you died before?"

Slowly, Buck turned around. His father stared at him with a look so intense that it made Buck want to hide, more focused than either of his parents had ever looked at him before.

Swallowing deeply, Buck managed, "How would you know that?"

"Because I'm the same way," Mr. Buckley revealed, holding out his hands. "It's a family trait."

Buck shook his head. "But Maddie—"

Lowering his hands to his side, Mr. Buckley interrupted, "Only the men in our family. My brother, my father, my grandfather, all the way back. Our ability starts as children and develops more throughout puberty, until we simply cannot be killed."

It was a family trait. Something his dad had known about all along. Who knew if Maddie had known, or his mom, but his dad had. And hadn't told him.

Eyebrows lowering, Buck asked, voice dark, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Mr. Buckley gave a helpless shrug. "I didn't know you had inherited the gene. I thought you were normal."

"I fell off the water tower!" Buck shouted, surprising even himself. He was vibrating, blood rushing in his ears. "I broke nearly every bone in my body but healed totally fine. You didn't think that counted? Was that not enough to prove it?"

"I was frightened, Evan," his father yelled back, though not as roughly as Buck had.

Never in Buck's life had his father admitted to being scared. Not in all the times Buck had been hurt, or ended up in the hospital, or snuck out of the house. It gave him pause.

"You—," Mr. Buckley struggled, swallowed, tried again. "Before you were born, we had another son. Daniel."

"Another—" Buck couldn't breathe. Another son? He had a brother? This whole time?

Mr. Buckley nodded, swallowed again. "He didn't inherit my ability," he said. "He died."

…

…

So Buck was a savior child. His older brother had not inherited the healing ability, had gotten sick, and his parents had had Buck trying to save him. His mother thought it was just a normal medical procedure, but his father had been hoping that Buck's cells would do more than cure Daniel's illness. He had hoped Buck's cells would give Daniel the healing factor he had never had.

Neither happened. Daniel died. And his parents made the choice to pretend he had never existed.

And never told Buck anything.

…

…

At work, Buck was able to function as normal. He had the job to focus on, people to save. At home, he was distant, moody. He'd briefly told Eddie about his dad's visit, but not what they'd discussed.

"I don't want to talk about it right now," was all he'd said.

"Well maybe you need to," Eddie had argued. "Because right now, you're worrying Chris and you're ticking me off." They glared at each other for several seconds before Eddie huffed. "We're partners. We've got each other's backs. Right?" he had asked like a challenge.

Having each other's backs was what landed them where they were then. Well, being in a building when the whole thing came down got them there, but semantics. Eddie had been in danger, Buck had done what he could to protect him. That was the short and long of it.

They were in a pocket of air in the rubble, surrounded on all sides by broken walls and tiles and pipes. Eddie was almost entirely unharmed, since Buck had shielded him with his own body, and had taken to searching for a way out or a way to signal to their team while Buck laid on the ground and did his best to breathe.

"Okay, I found a way out," Eddie said, coming back to where Buck lay, a piece of rebar sticking through his side.

Buck groaned. "Excellent. Cause this hotel sucks. Zero stars."

Except Eddie didn't move, didn't do anything, say anything. Buck opened his eyes, searched the dark for where Eddie's face was lit up by their head lamps. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What?" Buck asked.

If anything, Eddie's lips got thinner. "It's small. Like, almost too small. We'd have to crawl, and—"

He broke off, so Buck finished for him. "And I can't make it with this steel in my gut. I won't fit."

Eddie shook his head and put a hand on Buck's shoulder, gripping it tight. He didn't say anything more, only lowered his eyes to Buck's chest, to his side with the rebar and the blood they could only kind of see in the dark.

The rubble shifted somewhere above them—probably the rescue crews trying to find people who had been inside when it collapsed—sprinkling them with more dust. A board clattered to the ground to their left. If the rescue crews weren't careful, they would cause this pocket of safety to collapse as well. Or the exit Eddie had found would cave in.

"Eddie," Buck said. "You can go."

Eddie shook his head again. "No."

"Eddie," Buck tried again, but Eddie shook his head before Buck said anything more. "Eddie, I'll be fine. You can get out and tell the others where I am."

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut but didn't move.

"That passage could close any second," Buck huffed, feeling the rebar shift in his side. "You gotta go."

"Not without you," Eddie said through grit teeth. He met Buck's eyes, and the emotion in them was enough to take away any breath left in Buck's body. "Not without you," he breathed.

Here was a man that Buck loved, that he wanted to spend his life with. And, he realized, who loved him in return. Who wouldn't leave him behind because Eddie wanted to spend his life with Buck too. You go, I go. Except Buck wasn't about to let Eddie die.

Buck took as deep a breath as he could, then tried to pull himself up off the rebar. Noticing, Eddie held him down.

"What the heck are you doing? You have to stay still," Eddie snapped.

Shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut, Buck panted, "Have to—get it out."

"No. Buck, you have to leave it in. You know that," Eddie reminded him harshly. "If you take it out, you'll bleed out before we get out of here."

Blindly, Buck grabbed at Eddie's hand on his chest. Only after turning it over so he could entwine their fingers did Buck open his eyes. Eddie was staring at their hands with a mix of awe and heartbreak.

"Eddie." Eddie's eyes met his. Buck did his best to sound confident and determined, even with pain lacing through his side. "Trust me. Please. Just. Get it out." He took several shuddering breaths, Eddie holding tighter to his hand with each one, and then, "I promise. Eddie, I promise. I won't die. Just help me."

Another shudder from above, another sprinkling of dust. Eddie looked from Buck's eyes, to their clasped hands, and back. With what appeared to be a lot of effort, he finally nodded.

Sometimes Buck wished the human body didn't have so many nerve endings, that getting hurt didn't…well… _hurt_ so much. But it did, and there was a lot of yelling before Buck was free of the rebar holding him to the ground. Immediately, Eddie applied pressure to the side of the wound he could reach, repeating Buck's name over and over like that in itself was a bandage to stop the bleeding.

It took five minutes—the time in which Buck should have died—for the wound to heal to just a twinge and a bruise. He still felt woozy from blood loss, but that wouldn't last and he didn't have time to wait. Neither of them did.

Pushing away from Eddie, Buck said, "Okay. Let's get moving."

Eddie tried to hold on to him. "Buck, you're not—"

"I'm not dying," Buck interrupted. "But we both still might if we don't get out of here."

He moved around easily enough, and his voice was strong enough, that Eddie realized something had changed. He reached out and felt around on Buck's side, front and back, and found no wound. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he looked to Buck for answers. Buck took Eddie's hands in his, gave them a squeeze, and pulled them away from his body.

"I'll explain later, I promise. But first, let's get out of here." When Eddie didn't immediately move, Buck reminded him, "Christopher is waiting for you, right?"

That got Eddie up and leading the way to the crawl space that would take them to safety. To home.

…

…

They were both examined by Hen and Chim afterward. Lots of bumps, bruises, minor cuts. Surprisingly no concussions that they could see. What was with that big cut in Buck's jacket? Must have caught it on something, torn the fabric. The blood? There was no injury.

"It belongs to someone else," Eddie piped up. "We were trying to save him when the building collapsed. Got separated. Couldn't find him again."

That earned them sympathetic looks from both teammates, knowing how hard it was to lose someone on the job. Then they were left alone while Hen and Chim went to help others who had been injured in the initial breakdown and the secondary total collapse.

Buck waited until he was sure they were alone, then spoke before Eddie could ask a question. "My dad explained it when he visited recently," he started, staring out at the activity around them and not at Eddie beside him. "Apparently the men in my family all have this weird gene that makes us…well… _really_ hard to kill."

He glanced over, saw Eddie staring at him with bewilderment, and looked away again, wringing his hands together.

"Let's see, I think I—I fell like fifteen, sixteen stories as a kid? Bounced right back," he said with a short shake of his head. "Um, drowned in a surfing accident. Electrocuted myself building a house. Got—Got shot stopping a mugging."

Eddie let out a wounded sound that drew Buck's eyes. His partner's hands were curled into fists against the bed of the ambulance, his mouth drawn into a deep frown.

Heart racing, Buck continued. "Point is, you don't have to worry about me dying on you, okay? I—I don't know that it's possible." That did not seem to make Eddie feel any better and Buck hurried on, now gesturing randomly with his hands. "And, I mean, I'm still the same guy. I'm not, like, not human or whatever. Or, I don't think I'm not? My dad didn't say so, but then again he didn't think to explain it to me _at all_ until, like, a week ago, so—"

Eddie held up a hand and Buck's words trailed off. With his eyes closed, Eddie put his other hand on his forehead like he had a headache.

After awhile, he let out a long sigh and said, "Okay. Okay, so—I'm really tired. Let's just get through this. Then, I don't know, go home and—" He opened his eyes, met Buck's gaze, and stopped. "I need to…process this," he said at length.

"Oh." Buck nodded, then nodded again, more emphatically. "Of course. Yeah. That's—That's fine." He motioned over his shoulder. "Should I—I'll see you later, then."

He slid off the ambulance and backed out of view, then scurried away. Between two fire trucks, out of view, he squatted on the ground with his head between his knees and tried to breathe.

It would be okay. This was his family. More than anyone else ever had been, in all of his travels, this was his _family_. He wouldn't lose them. He couldn't lose them. It was going to be okay. It had to be okay.

…

…

By the end of their shift, Eddie still hadn't spoken to him. Bobby even pulled Buck aside once to ask him if everything was alright.

"What? Oh, yeah yeah," Buck assured him, slipping his fingers into his pockets. "We just—We lost someone. It's rough."

Like with the car accident, Bobby didn't appear to believe him. He stared at Buck for several long seconds, long enough that Buck almost caved and told him the truth, before holding his hands up in surrender.

"Alright. If you need anything, let me know," Bobby said. "Remember, the one eighteen is like family. We're here for you."

Buck did his best to smile. "Thanks, Bobby. I'll keep that in mind."

Then he gathered his things and headed for the Jeep. Only once he got there did he remember that he and Eddie drove in together that morning. Six minutes later, Eddie found him still standing by the driver's side door with his head against the metal. Buck jerked upright at the sound of the passenger side door opening.

Eddie stared at him over the hood of the Jeep for three seconds, then nodded toward the vehicle. "Come on. Let's go home."

His voice was clipped, tense, but he'd said 'home' and Buck latched on to that one word with all that he was. The drive to the house was the worst they had ever had. Even worse than the first day they knew each other. The radio played low to drown out the silence, yet the silence was winning. It didn't help that Eddie stared at him for most of the drive, wordlessly, intensely. Buck kept his eyes resolutely on the road ahead.

After Virginia Beach, Buck had run away any time someone found out about his ability. Even before he knew he had it. He would die. People would freak out. He would get in his Jeep and drive away. But the life he had in L.A.—the one eighteen, Eddie, Christopher, Maddie—was everything he had ever dreamed of and more. He had aunts and uncles and cousins, even a father, in the team. He had a family with Eddie and Chris. He'd gotten his sister back. He had a job he loved, a job where he really helped people, where he made a difference.

These people had seen the worst Buck had to offer and hadn't left him, hadn't given up on him. Without his job, without his team, Buck didn't know what he would do. If Eddie couldn't handle it…What would Buck do? What _could_ he do?

They had survived the tsunami, survived Buck losing Chris. Surely, maybe, they could survive this too?

At home, they thanked Carla for watching Chris. Then, since it was far past dinner time, they went through the steps to put him to bed together, as they had since Buck's leg had healed. It was domestic, and normal, and yet Buck felt the strain of his ability hovering over all of it.

Afterward, Eddie nodded down the hall to his bedroom. Once inside, he shut the door behind them. As private as they could get in a house with a child.

Eddie put his hands over his face, still facing the door, and let out a heavy breath. Buck looked around at the sparse decorations in the room, the perfectly made bed, then back to his partner as Eddie moved. The older man looked at Buck with dark eyes, then closed his them and let out another sigh.

"Look," Buck said into the quiet, tired of the stress of waiting. "If you need me to leave, I can do that. I can—I'll take my go bag and stay at Maddie's for a while. Send someone for my stuff later."

Now Eddie looked surprised, wrong-footed, as if that were the last thing he had expected. That tiny smidgen of hope in Buck got a little bit bigger at the sight.

"What? No. Buck," Eddie waved his hands as if to wave the idea away. "I'm not kicking you out. I'm not—" He sighed _again_. "I'm not that much of an asshole, okay? This is just a lot to take in."

"Oh."

In the following quiet, Buck shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. He couldn't quite meet Eddie's gaze, afraid of what he might see there. 'Not that much of an asshole' didn't mean 'not an asshole at all.'

After another few moments where neither of them spoke, Eddie took a seat on the bed, rested his elbows on his knees, and spoke in a helpless tone.

"I've never encountered anything like this outside of a comic book, and I'm having a hard time understanding." He looked up at Buck. "Help me understand. Tell me everything."

So Buck did. He sat on the opposite end of the bed from Eddie and told him everything Buck knew about his ability. Everything his dad had told him the previous week. Everything he had experienced that he knew was part of his ability in his life. He even told Eddie about how his parents had treated him growing up, and the little bit about his mysterious brother that he'd gotten his dad to spill.

By the time Buck was done talking, it was really late, the moon high outside the window. When Buck said, 'That's all of it,' Eddie nodded and lowered his gaze to his own hands. He hadn't asked any questions, just let Buck talk until he ran out of steam. Now, he still didn't speak. Buck did his best not to fidget, to give Eddie time to process, to make a decision, but it was hard.

"You know…All day, I've been replaying that moment in my head."

Even in the silence, Eddie's voice was quiet, but it had every ounce of Buck's attention.

"You asked me to trust you, said everything was going to be okay, to pull you off that rebar. And I did it." Eddie shook his head like he couldn't believe himself. "Against everything I knew as a medic, I did it. And then I held you in my arms, certain you were going to die, certain you were going to make me leave that pit without you."

His voiced choked off and he had to clear his throat. Buck had not thought about what that must have been like from Eddie's point of view. Buck's blood on his hands, his panting breaths evening out, his groans of pain subsiding. While Buck was healing, it must have sounded like he was fading away instead.

"Eddie, I'm so sor—"

Eddie held up a hand to forestall Buck's apology. Then he kept talking to his knees. "The thing is…I'm freaked out, Buck." He glanced Buck's way. "I'm really, really freaked out. I don't know how to handle this."

On most days, Buck didn't know how to handle it either, so he couldn't even muster up any bitter feelings in response.

With a sardonic chuckle, Eddie continued, "I didn't know how to handle Chris either. He had so many needs, and I was entirely out of my depth. I ran away from him."

He sounded so upset that Buck couldn't keep quiet. "You came back to him, though," he argued. "And you're a really great dad, Eddie. No one doubts that you love him, that you would do _anything_ for him."

That got Eddie to look at him at last. He gave a brief, thankful smile, then frowned again—but he didn't look away.

"Since you told me, I've been feeling out of my depth. Just like with Chris. And if I'm honest, I want to run." Buck's heart fell. He felt sick. "But," Eddie licked his lips, casting his eyes away, "I've done a lot of thinking. The thing is…I had to decide if this—this _thing_ —this ability of yours—Is it too much?" Eddie's face screwed up. "Is it big enough, bad enough, to cut you out of my life? A—And could I even handle it, if I did?"

He covered his mouth with his hands, looking more conflicted than Buck could ever remember him being.

"What do you mean, handle it?" Buck asked when Eddie didn't continue.

Eddie laughed without mirth and met Buck's gaze. "I've been in love with you for months," he admitted, his tone defeated.

Buck blanched. Sure, he'd thought it was true down in that pit, but to hear Eddie say it out loud? In response, Eddie shrugged one shoulder, as if to say, 'What can you do?'

"Before you told me about your ability, the thought of losing you was one of the most painful things I could imagine." Right up there with losing Chris, no doubt. Which was heartwarming except that he'd said 'before.' "Now you've let me in on this huge secret and—"

And it was too much. Buck lowered his eyes to the bed, did his best to nod, to accept it. His throat was already closing up, ready to let the tears fall as soon as he was alone. He loved Eddie, and if he loved him, then he had to accept if Eddie wanted him gone.

"—And it's _still_ too painful to think about," Eddie said in a rush, like he couldn't hold it in a second more. He tugged at his own hair with one hand, his shoulders hunching. "You make every day more bearable just by being there. You make me smile even when I'm upset. You love my _son_ , and I know you would do anything for him, same as I would. When I think about the future, you're always there, at my side, and I—" He took a deep breath, made sure he was looking directly into Buck's eyes when he said, "I won't let this be what ruins that. I won't."

The tears that had been welling up in Buck's throat spilled over, but in relief, not sorrow. All he managed was a breathy, "Oh," which was not nearly a sufficient response to Eddie's speech.

Except maybe it was, because Eddie seemed to understand—seemed to know exactly what this meant to Buck—because he slid over on the bed to wrap Buck up in his arms. Buck held him in return, so tight that it had to be uncomfortable but Eddie didn't push him away.

"I don't know how to handle this," Eddie said into Buck's hair, "but I'm not making the same mistake again. I'm not running away from this. I'm not running away from you, from us."

_Us_. Buck took a shuddering breath and pulled out of the hug. "I'm in love with you too," he said, with some modicum of his normal tone. "Have been for awhile. But I was hiding this huge thing from you, and I didn't know what I'd do if I told you and then…," he trailed off with a half shrug.

Right before Buck's eyes, a huge weight visibly lifted from Eddie, his every muscle relaxing at once. And then a smile, one of his precious small but heartfelt ones, graced his lips. Buck returned it without conscious thought.

That was the first night they slept together, but it was only sleeping together. They were too tired—physically and emotionally—for anything more. And in the days and weeks to come, they would work together to handle Buck's ability.

Eddie never stopped getting scared when Buck was in danger, but Buck never stopped doing what he could to save people. It caused plenty of arguments, but never anything that broke them up.

…

…

And then six months later, Bobby saw Buck drown while saving a family, underwater far too long for anyone to have held their breath, then cough back to life two minutes later. It confirmed a suspicion he'd had for awhile—one that caused him a _lot_ of existential crisis. But, he said, he had come to the conclusion that God had a purpose for Buck—saving people—and had given him a way to do it.

Still dripping wet, Buck had wrapped Bobby up in a hug to match the one he'd given Eddie, gasping, "Thank you, Bobby."

It had taken twenty-nine years, and a lot of lives, but Buck had found his place. He'd found his purpose, the use for his ability. He'd found people who knew him, who saw him as he was, and found something worthy there. This was his family, and he was never letting them go.

…

…

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing style, check out my other fics and look me up on goodreads ([Jessica M. Dawn](https://www.goodreads.com/jessicamdawn)) for more.


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